Inevitable Duty
by Psalm 136
Summary: On his way out the door at the beginning of X3, Scott is faced with a decision in the pleading eyes of a twelve-year-old boy.


**Inevitable Duty**

**Psalm 136**

**Angst/Friendship**

**Moments of Scott/Jean**

**Rated K**

**On his way out the door at the beginning of X3, Scott is faced with a decision in the pleading eyes of a twelve-year-old boy: can he really just up and leave?**

**Author's Notes: This quick oneshot just came to me, and I hope you enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated; constructive criticism, even more so.**

…

All Scott could hear was the sound of his own breath and his own footsteps. That's all he could hear, and that was all he wanted to be able to hear. For the moment, the haunting phantoms in his mind had ceased teasing him, had stopped driving him to the brink of insanity. He knew this wasn't like him. He knew he was just grieving. He knew he was just mourning the loss of the one woman he had ever dared to love. He needed closure, and so he needed to leave.

Despite what Logan probably thought, Scott thought with irritation, recalling their encounter, moments ago, he had no intentions of staying away indefinitely. He'd be back, of that he had no doubt. But sooner or later, he didn't know. Canada was a long way away, and there was a lot that could happen on such a trip. There were a lot of distractions along the way. It could be weeks, months before he was back.

Even years.

He needed to leave. The school had him in a stranglehold, and he felt like he was dying for lack of fresh air. He couldn't… couldn't keep going as whatever hero he was supposed to be. At least not right now, not without her. God, he missed her. He missed feeling her warmth next to him in bed (it felt like December without her), he missed her smile and her laugh and how she always knew just how to make him feel better, without even needing to know what was wrong. All of the words he should have said, everything he should have done was pounding in his brain, pumping through his veins, overtaking all of him until he was sure he was floating through space without purpose or direction or even gravity to hold him down. He was lost without her.

Scott felt another headache filigreeing through his head and he clenched his jaw to hold it back.

He wasn't going to Alkali Lake to kill himself, and he wasn't just going to abandon Ororo and the children and the Professor and the school. He just needed time and space to work through everything, just enough so the pressure in his chest didn't feel like his lungs would collapse every time he took a deep breath. Just a little while, and he'd be back, ready to help heal the school.

Scott felt for the jagged keys in his pocket as he opened the front door, turning around to lock it. He heard feet scuffing on the concrete and glanced over his shoulder, did a double-take, and then turned around entirely. There, not twenty yards from him, was a young boy. He was barely into teenagehood, Scott could tell that easily from being a teacher for so long, but he looked both frightened and entirely too uneasy.

"You, um…" The kid started awkwardly, fidgeting. "You work here?"

Scott hesitated, but finally nodded. "Yes… what do you need? You lost?"

The kid leaned slightly to the left to peer at the gold plate with the school's name and shook his head. "No, it looks like I'm in the right place. This… this is a mutant school, isn't it? Isn't it?!" His voice became higher and most hysterical. "Please, tell me it is!"

Before Scott could realize what he was doing, he had crossed the distance between him and the boy and had a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It is, I promise," he assured the boy. "Why are you here?" He asked, his voice calm, quiet and soothing.

"I…" The boy stuttered, swaying on his feet. "I guess I didn't know where else to go," he blinked, obviously fighting off exhaustion and hunger. "Um… I heard about this place from… from a f-friend, and…" He nearly shrieked when his cell phone suddenly began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and then dropped it as if he had been burned. "It's my mother," he admitted shamefully, glaring at the phone as he kicked it into the bushes. "She's been calling me since I hit New York City… see, she thinks I'm insane because I told her I broke a lamp, even though I was halfway across the room. She eventually started screaming at me when I told her I thought I was a mutant, and threatened to tell my dad…"

"And so you ran." It wasn't a question, and Scott didn't need an answer. He'd heard the story enough; kid freaks because one or both of his parents are abusive and runs because he's a mutant and he doesn't want to further contract abuse because he's inhuman. He didn't need the story told to him again. "What's your name?"

The boy looked up at Scott in alarm. "You need to know?"

"Well," Scott began, a half-smile forming on his face. His facial muscles screamed in protest; they weren't used to such exercise anymore. "Not really, but it'd make things easier. And I don't really want to call you 'hey you'."

The boy considered Scott's words and grudgingly offered, "Riley."

"I'm Scott Summers," Scott introduced himself with the smallest amount of cheerfulness he could fabricate without sounding too forced. "Come on, let's get you inside and get you something to eat."

…

"Back so soon?"

Scott stiffened and slowly turned when he heard Logan's voice. "No," was all he offered. He saw the infuriating eyebrow cock, and then relaxed slightly. "Some kid needed help. I'm helping him. Then I'm leaving."

He turned around and didn't respond to anything Logan might have said in response; all he could hear was his own breathing and steps, and that was all he could manage. Anything else would keep him prisoner to this place until he exploded.

…

Riley was eating a plate of mashed potatoes and turkey in the kitchen, while Scott leaned against the wall in the hallway just outside of the kitchen. He closed his eyes and the sound of cutlery clinking against a plate was, somehow, infinitely comforting. He took a deep breath and finally entered the bright kitchen.

Riley looked up and gave an antipathetic shrug in greeting as he rapidly continued to eat, as though it might be his last meal. "So, can I stay?" He asked, doing his very best at the tender age of twelve to hide his feelings, his fervent desire to stay _there_, where it was safe.

Scott nodded. "Sure. There's a room being set up for you right now."

Riley gave another shrug but his eating pace slowed dramatically and he paused to take a deep draught of cold water, actually setting his fork down. His shoulders slumped when he set the glass down, looking down at his dirty fingernails.

"Why did you run away?" Scott asked quietly, knowing there was much more to the story. Just fear of physical abuse didn't traumatize a child in this way; he recognized the signs in other facets of Riley's mannerisms, but there was something else that left a sour taste in Scott's mouth and made him loath to simply leave this child, especially just now that he'd arrived at the school.

Riley looked up harshly, and then his gaze dropped back to his hands. "Knocked my sister into a coma… least I think it was a coma…" He started to tremble. "I ch-ch-checked… she was still breathing when I left… when my mom came in… I swear she was! I… I didn't kill my sister… I didn't!" He insisted so forcefully that he knocked over his glass of water and sent it to the floor, where it shattered. Riley looked as though he would start to cry.

"It's just a broken glass, Riley," Scott soothed. "It's just a broken glass."

With those calm words, Scott cleaned up the glass and wiped up the water with a paper towel, tossing it into the garbage before he put an arm around Riley who had started to sob quietly. The poor kid's face had started to turn red because of his effort to hold back everything.

"Come on, Riley," Scott helped the boy to his feet, an arm still around him. He had done this a million times, but it broke his heart each and every time. "Let's get you to bed. A good night's sleep will do you some good."

Riley nodded against him feebly, and let Scott lead him up a set of stairs and down two different halls, until they came to a stop. Scott opened the door and found a set of fresh pajamas in one of the drawers. Riley slowly lowered himself onto the bed, kicking off his worn Converse shoes absentmindedly.

"Riley?" The boy looked up as Scott sat down next to him. "Go to sleep, and I'll see you in the morning. We'll get you signed up for classes, get you some new clothes, introduce you to everyone, and then we'll talk about what happened, okay?"

Riley nodded silently.

Scott smiled, and nodded in return. "There's a bathroom at the very end of the hall to the left, and if you need anything, go to the last bedroom at the end of the hallway to the right, on the right hand side. But try to get some rest. I promise that everything will look better in the morning."

Scott knew Riley probably doubted his words, but the boy got up and grabbed the pajamas as Scott was closing the door. That was something. Some runaways didn't sleep for nearly a full week upon their arrival, so frightening had been their ordeal to get to the school. But at least Riley was lying down and resting. It would be a soothing balm to his worn out, terrified mind. His first night would prove to him that he was safe and that this place wasn't half-bad at all. Yeah, Scott thought, Riley would be okay.

Scott turned around, only to find Logan standing silently a few feet away. "What do you want?" He asked harshly, his voice lowered out of deference for the young boy in the next room. He started off at an angry pace, not sure why he was so suddenly enraged, but not questioning it; it **was** Logan, after all.

"You've stuck around all day. It's a little late to be leaving. So, I'll ask you one more time," Logan's words stopped Scott, and he glanced over his shoulder at the Wolverine, an eyebrow raised, waiting. "You leavin'?"

Scott looked at the closed door, several yards back, that protected one adolescent boy from the horrors of the world, even if for just one night. The boy needed him. Riley had first met Scott, and he couldn't just leave. It would be detrimental to Riley's emotional state.

It was then that Scott realized he hadn't heard Jean's voice in his head all day. The headaches had stopped, and the fearful pressure in his chest had eased. He had noticed her absence in the school, in his world, but his focus had been on Riley, on getting the frightened, nervous boy settled. His mind had been more on the child, and not on himself and his own pain, and somehow, the grief and mourning had been kept at bay.

Truthfully, Scott could still cry at any given moment. He would probably be up all night, unable to sleep because he was tormented by the absence of the woman who should have been his wife. He wouldn't be himself for a while, but helping had eased the ache, staunched the bleeding, as it were.

Maybe it was a trick of his mind (**maybe it was divine intervention**) but he felt a slight warmth in the blackest parts of his soul that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was as though a warm breeze had passed over his cold skin, one that carried a trace of Jean, and was nudging him in the right direction.

Scott met Logan's eyes through his glasses evenly. "No," he finally said. "Not for a while."

Logan hesitated, and then nodded. That was good enough for him, and so he left, returning to his rooms a level up.

Scott slowly returned to his empty bedroom and fell into the empty, unmade bed, still fully dressed. He turned onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling. One arm was tossed to the other side of the bed, the place where Jean slept for years… there even was still a slight dip where her body had reposed in a similar position, whenever they did not sleep in each other's arms, in the middle of the bed. His hand gripped the sheet tightly, but he swallowed his tears.

He would visit the place Jean died some other time, but right now, he was needed here, and he needed to be needed. Jean had needed him, and that was what made him survive. Riley, and dozens of others, needed him now, and until the time was right, he would serve their needs first, before his own.

It was his inevitable duty, but it was not a prison. Instead, it would free him.


End file.
